


Where There is Quiet

by Shadaras



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Order 66, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, PTSD, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27900739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/pseuds/Shadaras
Summary: After the war, Obi-Wan leaves the Jedi Council. Yoda sends him to Jedha to recover from the war's effects. There, in the Temple of the Whills, Obi-Wan meets Chirrut and Baze and lets them help him lift himself back into joy.
Relationships: Chirrut Îmwe/Obi-Wan Kenobi/Baze Malbus
Comments: 10
Kudos: 79
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs 2020





	Where There is Quiet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TexasDreamer01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TexasDreamer01/gifts).



Obi-Wan left the Jedi Council after the war.

He could have stayed—there was a need for Jedi with steady hearts and diplomatic skills—but when Obi-Wan looked around the council room all he could see were the scars of war. History would paint these three years as having been a brief interlude in the Republic’s era of peace and stability, but Obi-Wan had been immersed in the war’s terror and tragedy and couldn’t bring himself to stay.

(Mace Windu, with his lightning-scarred chest and new prosthetic hand he made no effort to hide, stayed on the Council. But Mace had been there longer, and Mace had fewer reasons to believe he’d failed.

Anakin, of course, had been removed. Not from the Order, thankfully—they’d learned _that_ hard lesson from Ahsoka’s trial—but being remanded to Naboo for the foreseeable future was enough.)

When Obi-Wan made his decision, Yoda let him go with sad eyes and a suggestion: “Always welcomes seekers of knowledge, the Temple of the Whills does.”

“Jedha?” Obi-Wan ran his hand through his beard. Small, out of the way, carrying a sibling order of the Force— A knot in his chest eased at the idea. He nodded, giving Yoda a grateful smile. “Yes, that sounds like a good place to start.”

“Make the arrangements, I will.” Yoda gently patted Obi-Wan’s hand. “Rest, Master Kenobi; be here when you return, we will.”

Obi-Wan blinked away the first spark of tears. “I appreciate that, Master Yoda.”

* * *

From space, Jehda looked like it could be any of the hundred or more planets Obi-Wan had visited during the war. The main difference was that there wasn’t a fleet hovering around it, whether assaulting or defending its strongholds. Obi-Wan breathed out, settling into meditation to dispel the image filling his eyes. Jedha was safe, the war was over, and he didn’t need to fight anymore.

Getting through customs was easy: The Jedi Temple’s connections with the Temple of the Whills were solid, and the Guardians of the Whills were very pleased to have a Jedi Master come for such an extended visit. The flight down to the surface was simple as well; there wasn’t much air traffic, and Obi-Wan used the time to observe the city that he’d chosen to accept as his new home. 

Sandy buildings, bright banners, and the Temple towering over it like an artificial mountain. Harsh weather, a cold climate, and an aura that shone brightly in the Force and spoke of peace.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile at the city’s presence in the Force as he settled his ship at the port—he might not like flying, but he liked it least when someone else was flying the ship for him. When it was under his own control, he knew exactly what was going on, even if that was sometimes bad. Right now, at least, nothing was a threat, and Obi-Wan kept reminding himself that he had to _relax_.

Jedha, when he opened the ship’s hatch, smelled like stone and frost. Obi-Wan wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself as he exited his ship. The Guardians had said they would send two of their members to welcome him, and Obi-Wan reached out for them in the Force. Though the Guardians didn’t cultivate the Force’s power as actively as Jedi did, they still had a different presence in the Force than everyday citizens.

Two presences immediately stood out to him. One was solid as a mountain, the other deep as a lake. Obi-Wan turned towards them, looking for people those presences corresponded to. It wasn’t hard, in the mostly-empty landing fields, to spot them: A pair of human men, not much younger than he was, dressed in the flowing garb of the Guardians of the Whills. The taller one was bearded, and had long hair neatly queued behind his head. The shorter was clean-shaven, even his scalp, and had a wide smile as he called out, “Master Kenobi?”

“Guardians,” Obi-Wan said, bowing to them. “Thank you for coming to greet me.”

“It isn’t every day a Jedi comes to join our Temple.” The one who felt like a lake held a staff in his hand, one that Obi-Wan felt the Force woven into and around just as surely as the man himself. “I’m Chirrut Îmwe, and my companion is Baze Malbus. How much luggage have you brought?” As Chirrut approached, Obi-Wan caught sight of his eyes. They were pale blue and unfocused, but Chirrut moved unerringly across the landing field with barely a brush of his staff on the ground. 

“Please, call me Obi-Wan.” With a thought, Obi-Wan pulled the few bags he’d brought out of his ship’s storage area. It was mostly clothes, a few holocrons, and some keepsakes he didn’t want to leave behind. The Jedi Temple would store anything he hadn’t brought, of course, but a few items were too precious to part with. He slung one bag across his shoulders, and picked up the other two in his hands. “I didn’t bring much.”

“Allow me.” Baze extended his hands, not quite taking the bags from Obi-Wan but making his intentions clear. “We’re hosting you.”

Obi-Wan sighed a little—he had packed expecting to carry all his belongings with him—but let Baze take them from his hands. “I appreciate the courtesy.” In the brush of their fingers, he felt the calluses of a warrior, and a profound calm.

Chirrut and Baze bickered amiably as they led Obi-Wan through the city. Chirrut, despite his blindness, led their group. Obi-Wan felt the Force swirling around him, little nudges and hints to help him avoid obstacles and recognise people; that, along with his staff and Baze’s clearly automatic guidance in word and body, meant Chirrut moved at least as smoothly as the able-bodied citizens of Jedha.

Obi-Wan listened, and didn’t talk. He’d been travelling, and it was soothing enough to hear a friendship clearly displayed for his benefit. There was no talk of the war, and no signs of it in the city, either—no singe marks, no signs guiding civilians to saferooms, nobody looking at his Jedi robes and flinching away from the war he represented. Chirrut and Baze talked of training, and the games initiates played, and what food they hoped the kitchens would serve tonight.

Slowly, Obi-Wan relaxed. By the time they reached the Temple of the Whills, he could appreciate it. History was carved into its walls, and—unlike the Jedi Temple—it hadn’t been forced to rebuild itself to keep up with the city around it. When Obi-Wan passed its threshold, the Force sunk into his bones and he stumbled to a stop, dizzy with the unexpected sensation.

Chirrut caught his arm unerringly, fingers strong and certain as he kept Obi-Wan from falling. Just ahead, Baze let out a huff of breath. “I told you this would happen, Chirrut. He feels it even more than you do.”

“What—” Obi-Wan pressed a hand to his eyes, even though he knew his eyes weren’t the problem. The pressure in his shoulders wasn’t physical, either, but he rolled them nonetheless, hoping that they’d relax. “If you knew there was a guardian presence, you could have _warned_ me.”

Chirrut patted Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “People don’t usually notice! And Jedi don’t visit enough for me to know how—or if—you would!”

Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head. The pressure was fading, and he could see again, and the Temple’s weight didn’t seem to bear down on him as much. “It’s the _Force_. Of course it would recognise me, and I would feel it.”

“Chirrut says the welcome feels like gentle sunlight, even on the coldest day,” Baze said, and Chirrut’s attention flickered over to him. Baze smiled a little, and Obi-Wan caught his teasing tone. “He’s like a cat about it.”

“I think it’s more like being bowled over by a very enthusiastic and protective dog,” Obi-Wan said. He pulled back from Chirrut, and as soon as he moved Chirrut smoothly released him—though he didn’t step very far away. “Unexpected. Likely easier to deal with now that I know it’s there. Not inherently unpleasant.”

Baze laughed, a deep and rumbling sound. “You’ve got more humour than stories say Jedi do, Obi-Wan.”

“I try.” Obi-Wan smiled at the pair of them. “Shall we begin the tour now?”

Chirrut and Baze agreed, and took him first to see the dormitories, where a room had already been prepared for him and he could store his belongings. It was simply built, just like the rooms at the Jedi Temple; the most obvious difference was that the Temple of the Whills built in stone and cloth more than steel and chrome. That, truly, was a distinction between Coruscant and Jedha, and Obi-Wan didn’t mind it at all; it was a relief to be surrounded by the natural world after so long in Coruscant’s artificial cityscape and spaceships dancing through the endless void.

The remainder of the tour was quick and simple: The dining hall and kitchens, the deep archives and the upper libraries, the courtyards where initiates practiced staff and bow, the meditation halls and gardens. Obi-Wan committed it all to memory, a habit the Jedi had encouraged even before the war and required during it.

They ended back at the dining halls, where Chirrut introduced Obi-Wan to a dozen other Guardians and Baze quietly ensured none of them would sit and eat at the same table and overwhelm Obi-Wan yet more. Obi-Wan appreciated the courtesy, especially as elegantly done as it was—he could tell Chirrut knew what Baze was doing, but he wasn’t certain about the other Guardians.

Regardless of what they thought, the thought of being protected in even this subtle way was very sweet, and Obi-Wan appreciated it. The day had been long, and full of new places and people, and he was glad not to need to meet yet more people in any depth.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said as they left the dining hall. He was planning to go straight back to his new room and then to sleep, while Baze and Chirrut were turning back towards the study halls.

Chirrut laughed and lightly patted his shoulder. Someday, perhaps Obi-Wan would learn how much he could perceive with the Force’s aid and how much was simply confident guessing, but that was a long-term study. “Of course! We’ll be happy to see you and answer any questions you have, for as long as you are here.”

“I would regard you already as a friend,” Baze added more quietly. “I hope you return the favor.”

“I do.” Obi-Wan grasped Baze’s arm; the Guardians were free with touch in a way that the Jedi often weren’t, and Obi-Wan got the impression that this wasn’t even an adaptation to Chirrut’s blindness. “I hope we will continue learning together in the days to come.”

Baze smiled, and squeezed his arm in return, and then they parted for the night.

* * *

The Temple of the Whills was a quiet place. Its routines were simple, and Obi-Wan let himself sink into them. He spent most of his time in the archives, working with holocrons and kyber memories. The archivists were kind people who sometimes they asked him to help demonstrate the Jedi way to initiates, or went to him for a quick reference about Force powers he had more personal experience with, but for the most part they left him to his research about the old histories of the Force and the mantles its users had been trained to.

Obi-Wan liked it. It was completely different from the rhythms of war, and equally different from the Jedi Temple. Even when he was supposed to be resting or recuperating, there was something for him to do at the Jedi Temple. Teaching younglings, analysing data, managing the assignments of other Jedi to the war or recovery posts—downtime was only ever enforced when Obi-Wan had been actively in the infirmary himself, and even then sometimes broken in times of extreme need.

Here, his only duty was to himself.

The Guardians befriended him—Baze and Chirrut more actively than the rest—but he was not a part of their order, and therefore not integral to their lives.

Of the ways Obi-Wan integrated into the Temple of the Whills, his favorite was the martial practices. The Guardians of the Whills didn’t use the Force to enhance their bodies’ abilities the way Jedi did, and so Obi-Wan didn’t either when he trained with them. Without the Force, he was still strong and flexible and quick, but the Guardians’ dedication to perfecting the form meant that he still lost more often than he won.

Chirrut taught him how to shoot a light-bow, even though Obi-Wan would never learn the details of the Guardian’s staves (just as he would never share with them his lightsaber skills, but was happy to spar with swords). He was a good teacher, his hands light on Obi-Wan’s and his posture upright and confident despite his blindness. “We’ve etched marks into the floor,” he explained, after the first week when Obi-Wan finally caved and asked. “If I stand on them, I know exactly where the targets are and how far away they are.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan murmured, eying the floor. He could just see the marks Chirrut referred to, and when he was moving around in thin slippers the way Chirrut was fond of doing within Temple walls, he could feel them too. “What would you do if you didn’t have helpful marks?”

Chirrut grinned at him, as open and joyful in this as he was about all of life. Obi-Wan loved that about him, and was glad that the war hadn’t beaten down his brilliant spirit. “Then I would pray that the Force guided my hands, and that I had my friends beside me to help.”

“As if you could ever get rid of me,” Baze called from the sidelines. He was cleaning and repairing training bows, broad hands nimble on the delicate mechanisms. “You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if I left!”

Chirrut responded with a rude gesture, and Obi-Wan laughed. He was laughing a lot, with these two. He’d had friends at the Jedi Temple too, of course, and he missed them, but even their best times now were always tinged with sorrow and thoughts of friends lost. “So tell me, Master Îmwe,” Obi-Wan teased, the way he would those friends and thought he might be able to get away with here, “how’s your newest student doing?”

“He’s a quick study, but he’s not very focused.” Chirrut elbowed Obi-Wan in the side. “Show me what you can do, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan shook his head and drew the light-bow in one smooth movement, pulling the string back to anchor at his chin. “Acceptable?”

Chirrut’s hands drifted across his shoulders and arms, and Obi-Wan was acutely aware of Baze’s eyes steadily on them. There was no jealousy, simply curiosity, and Obi-Wan liked the way that felt—especially in combination with Chirrut’s careful touch and minute adjustments of his posture. “Go ahead,” Chirrut said, breath ghosting over his ear. “Shoot.”

Obi-Wan released the string, and the light-arrow shot straight to the target.

Chirrut listened to the sound, then smiled. “Now do it again without help,” he said, patting Obi-Wan on the shoulder. “Then you’ll be doing well.”

Obi-Wan nodded, and tried to recreate the feeling, but he was too distracted by his awareness of Chirrut and Baze now, and he knew it. He’d gotten close with them, not just emotionally as they talked and ate together, but physically, on the practice fields. Chirrut taught him to shoot, and Baze was one of the best fighters of the Guardians; Obi-Wan sparred with him more days than not. 

Baze won most of those matches, no matter what the weapon was. Bare-handed, they were most evenly matched, except for how Obi-Wan got distracted by how close they were to each other and Baze didn’t. After a month of this, Obi-Wan started thinking that Baze’s smirk as he won might mean something more than just pleasure in the competition.

“The Jedi Temple teaches that Jedi shouldn’t have relationships,” Obi-Wan finally said, one evening as they sat in the dining hall. “Friendships, of course, are not forbidden, but bonds of intimacy? Anything that might resemble favoritism? We’re discouraged from such things.”

Chirrut sighed and leaned into Baze. “A tragedy.”

“Yes, people like saying that.” Obi-Wan braced his chin on an upraised fist and contemplated his friends. “Have you been flirting with me? Because people are also usually less subtle about it.”

“Us, flirt with a Jedi Master?” Chirrut smiled lazily. “What would ever give you that impression?”

“Shut it,” Baze grumbled. “You’re just mad I won the bet about how long it’d take him to figure it out.”

“I would _never_ —”

“You bet on it?” Obi-Wan laughed incredulously, torn between confusion and wonder at the confident familiarity between them. “Why would you do that?”

Chirrut shrugged, smile undimmed. “It was fun.”

“Do you want us to keep flirting with you?” Baze asked. His gaze was fixed on Obi-Wan’s, and his lips curved gently in his beard. “I get the idea you like it.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan admitted. He sighed, and smiled ruefully at them. “So long as you don’t mind that I’m entirely unpracticed at relationships, I’m happy to be taught.”

Chirrut slid around the table so quickly Obi-Wan almost missed the motion. He wrapped his arm around Obi-Wan’s waist and said, delightedly, “I’m going to have _such_ a good time teaching you.”

Baze laughed, and reached across the table to take Obi-Wan’s hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze and said. “What he means is, we wouldn’t be flirting with you if we didn’t like who you are, Obi-Wan. No need to worry about what experience you might have; you’re perfectly good just as you are.”

Obi-Wan smiled, tears prinkling at his eyes from their kindness. It wasn’t the same as the Jedi Temple, but he didn’t want it to be. Obi-Wan leaned into Chirrut’s side and said, “I’m quite fond of you two as well.”

“Good!” Chirrut said, and Baze’s eyes lit up just as surely with his joy. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together.”


End file.
